


oceans between us (i will cross them all for you)

by jadeddiva



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:18:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 17,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadeddiva/pseuds/jadeddiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles and bits and baubles related to Captain Swan and inspired by tumblr prompting</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. oceans between us (i will cross them all for you)

**Author's Note:**

> When she sees them standing together, Hook and her father, she does not think much of it. It is only when they board the ship, when Hook stops Neal, that she worries. - Hook stays behind in Neverland, and Emma does not rest until he returns to her.

When she sees them standing together, Hook and her father, she does not think much of it.  They have bonded through this quest (as if she needed further proof of the pirate’s character - her father would be his staunchest supporter she is sure) and she does not pay much attention to their quiet conversation, not with her son in her arms.

It is only when they board the ship, when Hook stops Neal, that she worries.

“You steer her true, like I taught you,” Hook says, arm on Neal’s shoulder.  Neal nods, and Hook steps back.

Emma stands at the railing.  “Come on, Hook, no time for goodbyes,” she calls, her voice crisp in the cool dawn of morning. 

His eyes meet hers and he shakes his head slowly.  “No, love,” he calls back, “someone needs to stay behind.”

Her fingers grip the wooden rail.  “What do you mean?”

“The secret of the island,” he says.  The boat lurches.  Pan’s shadow has been attached to the sails.  “If the shadow leaves, a soul must take its place.  Let the shadow get you home, love.”

Her stomach drops, her mouth opens in a gasp – he cannot be serious.  In no world would he be serious.

She remembers his earlier conversation with David just as her father’s arms wrap around her to stop her – from what? From jumping off the ship and dragging Hook behind her?  She struggles but David is strong.

“Goodbye, love,” he calls, and just before he turns to walk into the dense jungle foliage she catches his face.  The expression changes from the carefree one that he wore talking to her to something different, something wary –

Something broken.

 “Hook,” she screams, watching his back flinch.  She screams his name as they take off into the sky, and as Neal guides them home to Storybrooke.  She screams until she goes hoarse, until Mary Margaret is beside her as well, until she can’t see the island anymore because of the tears that stream down her face.

...

Emma does not sleep the first night that they return.

She paces the apartment and when it’s apparent that everyone is bothered, she paces at the sheriff’s station, which is her domain.  She is full of restless energy and no way to relieve it.

They have left Hook in Neverland.

He sacrificed himself for them.

He sacrificed himself for her.

She is not surprised that he does it -  did, she wonders if she needs to start thinking of him in past tense now – something that she didn’t expect and something she never asked for, something so selfless that she wonders who he really is and if she really knows him (she does, she feels like she does, he’s just different from what she thought Captain Hook might be like).

There is a hole in her, like a part of her is missing, and she can’t believe that someone she’s only known for a month would leave such a mark that it would feel as if something has been ripped from her, body and soul.

She throws her keys across the room in despair or disgust, she doesn’t quite know.

(She picks them up a minute later because they’re her keys after all.)

Emma drives to the docks, where his ship is, and walks the deck and down below.  She doesn’t realize at first that she is searching for him until she realizes he’s not secretly there, hiding or avoiding her, not even in his cabin.

She does not linger in his room long – there’s something so private about being here that she can’t be here, has never been here even on the voyage to Neverland – and she leaves and heads back to the station, where she watches the sun rise through plastic blinds and tries to figure out which of the many plans she’s been formulating all night will work best.

...

She doesn’t sleep well the next night.

Regina has flat-out told her that they’re keeping the shadow for good measure, not for any other reason, and that she can’t ride the shadow back like Neal did.

“Forget the shadow,” Emma says.  “Put it back where it belongs.  We don’t need something like that in this realm.”

Regina waffles but Emma continues.  “What about Ariel?” she presses.  “Can you make another bracelet? We ask her to cross between realms and bring him back.  We can return the shadow to it’s island.  He can bring Hook back.”

“My my, Emma, you really do care for that pirate,” Regina says with a knowing smile, and Emma shakes her head (even though her heart beats _yes yes yes)_  and says, “I care about doing what’s right for someone who helped us get our son back.”

The words chasten Regina, who mumbles that she can see what she can do but ultimately it will be the little mermaid who will be the one to travel so she better ask her first.

She turns to her right, half-expecting to see Hook giving her a reassuring smile, but it’s just David and his smile doesn’t do the same things.

Emma is not sure when she started relying so heavily on Hook for reassurance, but his absence is tearing her apart, filling her with panic that nearly equals how she’s felt for only Henry in the past.

They can’t find Ariel the first day, so they assume that she’s with Eric and so Emma is brought back to the loft to rest.  She doesn’t, though.  She drives through the down and finds herself back at the _Jolly Roger._

Standing on the deck, that hole inside her threatens to grow to a gaping maw and she can’t even imagine how she didn’t _know,_ how she didn’t know how she felt about him when he was there and now that he’s not, it’s as if all the feelings are eating her up inside and maybe _that_ is the hole, the knowing that she might not get him back.

There are footsteps behind her and she turns to find Neal approaching her carefully, like one might approach a skittish dog.

“Hey,” he says, hands in his pockets. “I heard you might have  a way to get Hook back.”

She nods.  “Yeah, maybe.”  She sniffs, the cold air making her nose run (or so she thinks).

“You really do care for him, don’t you?” Neal asks, and Emma shrugs.

“I don’t know,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “All I know is that I can’t leave him there, in Neverland.”

Neal nods.  “Yeah,” he says, “you’re right.  We can’t leave him there.”

“Yeah,” is all Emma says in reply.

...

Ariel agrees and Emma thinks it’s because Mary Margaret asked her, because she was quite sheepish when she saw her mother and Emma knows Mary Margaret does not make people sheepish by her presence.   All they need now is Regina.

Regina, who is spending the day with Henry.

The third day passes in a blur of coffee cups and TV sitcoms that her parents beg her to watch to keep her mind distracted but she hasn’t slept well and  she keeps shaking her leg, whether from nerves or caffeine or something else Emma doesn’t know, but it annoys everyone around her and she’s back at the ship.

She goes into his cabin this time, and lingers.  There are maps and papers, a compass and some fancy device that must be a sextant (she remembers Pirates of the Caribbean) and books – so many books piled on the floor and every available surface.  Books on the sea, books on history, books on adventure and books on plants.

She opens the books and pages through them slowly, her mouth open in wonder at the markings made in ink around the margins, questions that he wants to know the answer to.

She knows that Hook is a smart man (she will not use past tense) but this is something new.  It only makes him more complex and more than just what she thought he was, the pirate who only wanted revenge.  She’s seen him grow with every word he’s spoken to her and every deed he’s done but now, he’s not here for her to say it and it _wrecks_ her. 

She slams the book shut and wraps her arms around herself, trying so hard to keep the sobs inside of her.

When she is spent, and when her emotions cannot take it any longer, she turns around and sees his bed.

It is instinct more than anything else, the need to be surrounded by his scent, the desire to crawl between the sheets and be hit by the smell of _him_ , of Hook (of Killian).  She wraps the blankets around her and sleeps easily, easier than she has all week, only to be woken by the squeal of her radio.

She sits up, dazed and confused, to hear that Regina has made a bracelet, and they will meet her by the shore.

...

“Tell him to come back to me,” Emma tells Ariel, handing them the bracelet and the coconut that contains the shadow.  “Tell him if he acts all noble that I’ll kick his ass.”

Ariel nods, confused, a smile still on her face.  “I will do that...”she says, looking at Belle and Mary Margaret for confirmation.  The two women nod, and Ariel puts the bracelet on and returns to the sea.

Emma would wait there but her family refuses to allow her and the only compromise they can make is that she can stay on the Jolly Roger.  Henry stays with her for a while.

“Do you love him?” he asks.  Emma shrugs.

“I don’t know, kid,” Emma tells him.  “I don’t know.

She sleeps on the ship again that night.

...

There is a splash and _he_ is back.

Emma runs along the shore and stops, right as he stops at the waterline, Ariel to his left.

“You’re back,” she breathes, the space between them suddenly huge and frightening now that he’s here. 

“You scare me Swan,” he tells her, “I was not about to get on your bad side.”

There’s something about the way that he smiles, cocking his head to the left, drenched from his ocean swim, that makes her launch herself at him and hug him.  She feels his arms come around her slowly, hand find its way into her hair, and she sighs, deep and contentedly because Hook is back and she will figure out the rest later.

...

She is home, the other asleep, when there is a knock at the door.

It is Hook.  He stands, facing her, eyes wide.

“You were in my cabin,” he tells her.  “You were in my bed.”

She feels like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, and she looks down and away.  “I’m sorry,” she says.  “I couldn’t sleep and then – “

His hand reaches for her chin, tilts it upward.  “I knew I was warming on you, Swan,” he teases, fingers brushing along her jawline.  She rolls her eyes.

“You have no idea,” she says, ignoring his cry of surprise when she pulls him forward for a kiss.

 


	2. my sins, like scars, will fade with time

**my sins, like scars, will fade with time**

_He was foolish, so incredibly foolish, he shouldn’t have decided to fight for her like that._

“Emma, I – “ Hook starts but she puts her hand up and shakes her head.

“No,” she tells him.  “Not now.  Not after all that talk about good form.   You can’t be like this – it doesn’t work this way.  You can’t tell me one thing and then do another.”

She storms off into the bushes, leaving him alone to his thoughts. 

_That_ is a terrifying prospect in and of itself.

He takes a moment, reaches in his coat for his flask, decides against it and slips it back into its place.  Sometimes you need to deal with the pain head-on, without dulling it with rum.

He is full of grandiose speeches these days –speeches about knowing what it’s like to lose hope or how he has come to love again or how he would win Emma’s heart because of the very good form that he very much forgot just a few moments ago – but he is not practicing what he preaches.  He is being self-serving and selfish.

Maybe he will never be anything more than a pirate.

Hook lingers at the back of the party as they assemble near Tink’s home.  Emma is with Neal in the front, with Snow and Charming, and he hangs back, hand on his hilt and ready for action.

He might not be the best person in the world – he might not be the person that he wants to be, nor the person that will win Emma’s heart, but he will help her save her son because _that_ is the right thing to do.

...

Hook speaks only when spoken to, or when his knowledge of the island is enough that he is deferred to; he does not try to contribute to the conversation unless he is absolutely sure that what he is saying is what needs to be said, now, by him.

He certainly does not talk to Emma, nor does she talk to him.

He’s still licking his wounds, feeling less foolish than before but more than a bit dejected. He has no intention of not fighting for her (after all, a man who doesn’t fight for what he wants blah blah blah) but there is no fight in him now, or at least none directed at winning her heart.  He makes sarcastic comments beneath his breathe at the Dark One and rolls his eyes when anyone makes another ridiculous comment.  Regina has taken to smirking at him when he does this, as if she agrees (when it’s not her making the ridiculous comment).

He is done with these people, this place.  Neverland is the worst place in the world to be trapped with those who frustrate you, and he would prefer some place where he can regain his footing and his mind.

Or perhaps this is what Pan wants –dissention in the ranks, all of them pushed to the breaking point much like the storm created by that bloody mermaid Snow pulled aboard his ship.

The thought gives him a moment’s pause.

“Hey,” Emma says, standing in front of him, hands on her hips.  “What’s wrong with you?”

Her presence is like an alarm bell, her voice a knife that cuts through his thoughts.  He shakes his head.   They have not spoken since she left him behind, and he wonders what she possibly wants from him now (not like he wouldn’t give it to her either – he would give her anything she wants because she wanted it, even if he is hurt and humbled by their last conversation).

“Nothing, Emma” he says, shaking his head. “Just wondering where Pan is.” 

 “Hey,” Emma repeats, stepping closer, forehead creasing into a little V as she frowns, “I thought we said no lies?”

Hook runs his hand through his hair, almost wants to reach for his flask.  “We did.  I a _m_ thinking about Pan.”

“But that is not all you’re thinking about,” Emma says. “What’s wrong?”

He looks past her to see that the others are gathered nearby, and they are far from them.  If this is the time that she wants for a heart-to-heart, he is neither ready nor willing. 

“Nothing I am thinking about will help us save your son except wondering where Pan is,” Hook points out.

“Pouting isn’t really like you,” Emma tells him, and he feels annoyance at being called out on his behavior once again.  He sighs, and raises his eyebrows in response.

“I thought we said no lies, love,” he tells her, because he’s ultimately sure that she doesn’t spend much time thinking about him or his motivations – none of them do, or else none of them would be questioning his actions at every turn.

He tries not to let that thought destroy him.

He goes to move forward and around her and she puts her hand on his arm as if to restrain him.  He could push past her if he wanted to but he won’t.  Her touch is like being overtaken by a wave, and he feels he must struggle to come up for air.

“I’m not lying about anything.”  Emma releases her hand and takes a step back.

“Then maybe it’s not lying,” he says softly, adjusting his jacket.  “Maybe it’s just a sin of omission.  And maybe I’m just bloody tired of everyone always assuming the worst of me even when I have done everything in my power to amend for my past actions and reunite you with your boy.” 

The words that spill out of his mouth catch on his tongue, making him sound more broken than he feels like he should allow himself to be.

Emma is clearly speechless and so he leaves her there, behind him, walking off to rejoin the party ahead of him.  He can tolerate Regina and the Dark One more than self-aggrandizing speeches and spurious accusations any day.

He will still fight for what he wants, but the cockiness – that he would win her heart because she would want him – fades with each passing minute.  He’s not sure who that self-assured man was just those few short hours ago, but Neverland is easily chewing him up and spitting him back out in a completely foreign form, unfamiliar to anyone including himself.

...

She tries three times to speak with him after that.

The first is to ask what he meant, though it’s half-hearted enough to indicate that both of them know she’s more than capable of deciphering his fairly explicit condemnations.

The second is to tell him they’ve found where Pan is keeping Henry, and he takes her information with a nod.  He will save the boy, because that is good form and that is what he is here for.

The third is when she stops him as they split up – him with her parents, her with Regina and Neal. 

“Take care of yourself,” she tells him.

“Always do, love,” he says with a wink that is so much a part of his nature that he doesn’t even think much about it.

“I mean it,” she repeats.  “Don’t do anything foolish.”

“Why, love?” he asks.  “Because I’m a pirate and we do foolish things?”

“No,” Emma says, her voice wavering just slightly.  “Because I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

It’s enough to leave him speechless, unsure of what she means (violence or some variation? She would most definitely hit him but that’s how Emma is).  He just nods, and turns to follow the Charming family.

Her words echo in his head like a siren call, making him uneasy and unnaturally brave, making him want to live long enough to find out just what she meant by any of this.

...

The boy is saved.

There is a moment of relief between when Henry is freed from Pan’s trap and when he lunges into his mother’s arms, and Hook is grateful to see the reunion.  There is still a demon to vanquish, but that is up to the Dark One and the Evil Queen.  It is not up to him, lowly in the villain hierarchy though he may be.

He watches Emma embrace her son, watches her brush his hair off his forehead and give him a kiss, and their eyes lock.  She whispers a ‘thank you’ to Hook, as if that can make up for everything that has happened.

It does.  The look of gratitude, the look of appreciation, the look of happiness on her face – it is a balm to his troubled soul. 

Everything has been worth it.

The feeling that he has done something good, something right and something that makes the woman he loves so grateful – it is a surprise, to know that his ends have achieved these means. 

Even if they don’t see him for the man he wants to be, this might be enough.

Hook smiles back.

_Good form indeed._

...

“I shouldn’t have doubted you,” Emma says between kisses, fingers tangling in his hair.

“I don’t know why I was surprised,” she breathes, hot and heavy against his mouth.

“I’m not used to people putting me first,” she whimpers as his teeth brush against her neck.

“You’re a good man, Hook,” she sighs as he stops kissing her, just for a moment, and rests his forehead against her own.  “And I think maybe you always have been.”

He takes a deep breathe to calm his racing heart, more from her words than her actions.  He wants to laugh, wants to shout, wants to celebrate that someone, here, finally sees what he’s been hoping has still been inside his heart all along.

He kisses her again in gratitude, unable to stop touching her and unable to adequately voice his thanks.

He was foolish, so incredibly foolish when he decided to fight for her in the first place, but perhaps he was more foolish to think he could never been the man he once was again.


	3. convenience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt 'laundry, soft, warm'

“So this machine washes your clothing?” Killian looks at her skeptically.

“Well, most clothing,” Emma says, eyeing the leather pants he wears.  “And then we move it to here,” she pats the dryer, “and it dries it.”

“Dries it.”  Killian raises an eyebrow.  “I know this is the land without magic…”

“Science.  Or, maybe engineering, I guess?”  Emma slams the dryer door and twists the knob.  “It’ll probably take an hour to get your sheets dry so…lunch?”

The modern world is confusing to Killian on a good day, overwhelming on a bad one, and Emma can’t blame him when he eyes the dryer suspiciously as they head into the kitchen for lunch.  He can handle some things, like the oven, far better than he can handle the microwave, so she turns on the oven and gets ready to make a frozen pizza (oddly enough, Killian really appreciates frozen food).

She’s been helping him acclimate, and she doesn’t mind it much – it’s nice to feel like she’s an expert on something for a change and he’s more than grateful, plus it gives her a really good excuse to spend time with him (she is all about excuses these days).

Emma’s never been one good at articulating how she feels but doing things to help those she cares about – she’s good with that.  Helping Henry, helping her parents, now helping Hook…it’s something she can do.

She gets him water from the tap (“why you drink water out of this ridiculous bottles is beyond me, Swan, this is better than any water I’ve ever tasted”) and pulls the pizza out of the freezer.

“Pepperoni fine?” she asks, and Killian nods, looking out the window idly.  For some reason, he’s not entirely comfortable at the apartment and she doesn’t know why.

“Hey,” Emma calls out softly, and he turns.  “What’s up?”

“I…” he starts, but then he rubs his thumb against his forehead and shakes his head.  “Nothing.”

Emma crosses her arms over her chest.  “Come on, I can tell when something’s bothering you by now.  We don’t have to eat pizza.”

“It’s not the food, Emma,” he tells her.  He keeps looking away from her so she steps forward, takes his face in her hands, and turns him so that he’s looking at her.  His eyes are big and it frightens her how she can tell so much about him by a single glance, a longing gaze that seems to burn from the inside.

“Tell me,” she says softly, trying to ignore the fact that this is as close as they’ve been since the first kiss all those weeks past.  While they have spoken and they have worked together, they haven’t touched each other and she swears she can feel his heartbeat through her palms (or maybe that’s her own – her eyes do something weird to her stomach).  She rubs her thumb against his cheek and he covers one hand with his own, leaning into it.

He presses a kiss against her palm.

She inhales sharply but does not remove her hands from him.  It’s like she’s frozen in place, trapped by the intense gaze he levels at her.

Killian steps back and her hands fall to her sides.  He looks down, and then back up at her.

“You don’t have to help me, Emma,” he tells her softly, and she steps forward, invading his space in a way that she’s not comfortable with.

“But I want to,” she says softly.  Killian scratches his forehead with this hand.

“Please do not think I’m ungrateful, love,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, “nor do I fail to appreciate the amount of time you spend trying to acclimate me to this world…it’s just…”

She doesn’t even know how to anticipate what he’s going to say, doesn’t know what to say to help him choose his words carefully, doesn’t know what he could possibly want to say to her. She does know, however, that there are some things he really needs to know about her and her actions.

She steps forward, wraps her arms around his neck, and brings him towards her for a kiss.

He is surprised and gasps audibly in her mouth but doesn’t seem to question her much.  He wraps his hook arm around her waist and pulls her closer to him, moving his mouth against hers eagerly.  She slips her tongue into his mouth, lets him back her up against the kitchen island, and twists her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.  His other hand reaches up cup her face, angles her head to kiss her deeper.

“Maybe,” she says, breaking away for a moment, “I like to show my affection for stupid pirates by doing things for them.” She pulls his head back, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes, resting her forehead against his own.  “Maybe I’m not so good with panty-dropping speeches and maybe that’s a failing of mine but –“

“Not a failing, love,” Killian breathes against her mouth, rubbing his nose against her own and biting her lip, “I’m just sorry I didn’t realize it sooner, though I do appreciate your efforts to educate me.”

“Shut up,” Emma says, closing the gap and kissing him again.

The oven timer goes off.  The sound, loud and piercing, startles Killian and he backs away.   Emma sighs and turns. “Preheat is done.”

She glances over to Killian, who looks at her dazed and confused with tousled hair and kiss-swollen lips.

He raises an eyebrow, more pirate than he was a moment ago.  “I think I might need some clarification on what ‘panty-dropping’ means, love,” he says with a wicked grin.

Emma reaches for the oven, turns it off.

“I can think of a better way to spend an hour,” she says with a smug smile.


	4. whipped cream and other delights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt, "Love, what are you doing with that bloody whipped cream?"

“Love what are you doing with that bloody whipped cream?” Killian asks.

Emma looks up from across the counter.  They are alone in the loft so there are only two mugs of coffee and no excuse for the ungodly amount of whiskey and whipped cream currently to be found in each and he’s already complained that too much whipped cream will dull the taste of the alcohol _twice_.  She’s positioned the nozzle of the can against her finger and then presses down, getting a large puff of cream. 

“Eating it,” she says, licking it off her finger.   When she notices his eyes widening, she takes a moment to swirl her tongue around the tip, then brings her finger to her mouth and sucks it clean.

Killian swallows (he’s so cute when he’s flustered).

“Whipped cream?” she asks, putting more on her finger.  She extends the digit to him, and the look of vexation turns into one of pure absolute lust that sears through her body and settles between her thighs.

_Shit_.

He leans forward towards her finger and then, delicately with his tongue, proceeds to lick the whipped cream off before repeating the same motion she did earlier, taking the finger into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the tip.  He releases her just as she decides to take things a step further.

She can melt into a pile on the floor later.

Soon there is whipped cream on his jawline and she is licking it off, biting his earlobe in the process (the sound he makes is ridiculous and she is so glad that they are alone right now) and then there is whipped cream in the V of her shirt and he is taking his sweet time licking and sucking, lifting her up onto the counter so that he can get a better vantage point as he trails his tongue between her breasts and nips at her collarbone.

She fists her hands in his hair and pulls him closer, wrapping her legs around his hips and pushing him against her.

Self-preservation is a well-timed phone call.  The phone dances along the countertop with its vibrations and Killian growls, “Ignore that bloody thing,” as he sucks against her neck.  Emma reaches for it, checking to see that it’s not Henry (it’s a number from Colorado, she doesn’t know anyone in fucking Colorado, fucking telemarketers) before pushing him back and away from her body.

“Upstairs,” she says, grabbing the whipped cream container.  “I am not about to scar my son for life.”

Killian’s lip quirk upwards in a smile.  “As you wish, my lady,” he says.


	5. daughter of the pirate king

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt 'Killian's 5 year old daughter has him wrapped around her finger'

**daughter of the pirate king**

Emma hates parent-teacher conferences.   They never went well when she was a kid (she takes after her own parents in both stubbornness and refusal to follow directions) and so it’s with trepidation that she answers the phone call from Moira’s teacher and confirms that yes, she and Moira’s father can stop by for a meeting with Miss Prior on Friday.

She tells Killian as much that night, when they are loading the dishwasher.   Killian shrugs off her concern.

“She’s a bright lass, Emma,” he tells her.  “I’m sure whatever trouble she’s gotten herself into will be easily resolved.”

Emma bites her lip, anxious.  She’s not as cavalier.

Moira is bright-eyed and energetic and so incredibly smart that it overwhelms Emma how this perfect girl could be hers.  She takes after her father in terms of intelligence and cleverness, and she is thankfully not the handful that Emma feared when they learned it was a girl (“she’ll be just like me, I know it,” she had told Killian, who kissed the back of her hand and said, “the world needs more brilliant young women,” in that reassuring way of his that always made things better).  Though she is headstrong, there is a quiet reserve to her that is most definitely all Killian, and it frightens Emma what her daughter could have done to possibly require a parent-teacher conference.

(Emma tries not to think about the fact that this is her first conference, that Regina has always gone to Henry’s.) 

She walks by Moira’s room that night, lingers in the doorway as Killian tucks their daughter in.  She remembers several months back, the night before Moira’s first day of kindergarten, when she overheard the stern warning given by her husband about respecting her teacher.  Killian is rather old-school when it comes to education, so any message about listening to Miss Prior had been well-received.

Or so Emma thought.

They arrive at the elementary school when the kindergarteners are at music class, and Emma fidgets in the chair of the office, waiting for Miss Prior to meet them.  Killian reaches over and takes her hand, squeezing it gently.

“Everything will be fine,” he tells Emma, who sighs.   “Just remember, when I was a lad teachers were still allowed to use corporal punishment.  Whatever Moira has done, at least the punishment won’t be as severe.”

“You’re over three hundred years old,” Emma mutters under her breath.  “Of course it won’t be as severe.”

Miss Prior is a little thing, barely out of college, daughter of one of the men who work at the wharf (Mary-Margaret says she was the daughter of a farmer in their realm).  She is sweet and kind and Moira loves her, which speaks well enough of her character that Emma’s palms grow sweaty just thinking about what her daughter may have done to warrant this conversation.   She leads them to the kindergarten classroom, full of art projects and huge letters and smelling of crayons.   It’s a calming smell, this smell of childhood.    Killian does not let go of her hand the entire way.

Miss Prior tells him about how well Moira is doing, how bright she is and how she’s excelling in matters like sharing and learning her ABCs.    Beside her, Killian beams over his daughter’s accomplishments, and Emma knows she should be happy, but she wonders when the bad news will come.

“There is one problem,” Miss Prior tells them, and Emma feels nauseous. 

“Is she being insubordinate?” she asks quickly.  Killian squeezes her hand and whispers, “Love, it’s all right,” but Emma is tense and earnest.

Miss Prior smiles.  “No, not that, but…” the teacher takes a deep breath, “Moira is a bit difficult at recess.”

Emma frowns.  Killian asks, “What do you mean?”

“Moira has taken to playing a game with the other children where she ‘seizes’ their belongings and they must retrieve them from her.  When the children complain, she argues that she’s the daughter of the pirate king so she gets to take their things and if they don’t comply, she tells them they can walk the plank.”

Emma turns to see Killian aghast at this development before she bursts out laughing – belly laughs so hard that she is crying and can barely breath, and she knows she’s making a fool of herself but she doesn’t really care, this is the _best news ever_.

“Lass,” Killian says, trying to bring Emma back. 

“Sorry,” she apologizes, wiping her eyes and glancing over at her shell-shocked husband.  She turns to Miss Prior.  “Her father was a pirate in the Enchanted Forest.”

Miss Prior smiles and nods.  “That makes perfect sense.  While I do encourage our students to be imaginative…”

“…it’s bad form for the sheriff’s daughter to run around stealing from the other kids.  I know.”  Emma smiles.  “We’ll take care of it.”

As they leave the school, she nudges a still-dazed Killian with her hip.

“You have got to stop telling her those stories,” she tells him, and he nods, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“You don’t need to remind me, love,” he says.  “This is bad form indeed.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Prompt: Snow/Charming/Hook finding out about Neal and the prison thing. Not sure if you've done something like this before but everything you write is pure gold :)

**let go**

There is the sound of shouting, then a door slams.  

Until now, he had been enjoying a quiet moment in the gloriously-appointed passage of the summer palace.  The breeze was quiet lovely and Killian had taken to sitting on a window seat on his idle afternoons, reading through navigational accounts of the realm (after all, he had been in Neverland for quite some time).

(And if he so happened to be here because a particular princess had taken to spending afternoons in the courtyard below with her son, well…as a pirate, he liked to protect treasure).

Killian looks up from the book he’s been reading as Emma storms out of the room and down the hallway.  She sees him almost immediately, and slows down.

"I need your flask," she tells him.  Killian raises an eyebrow.

 "Far be it from me to not assist a damsel in distress, but alas, my lady, my flask is in my coat and not on my person," he tells her.  He closes the book carefully. "Of course, if you decided to venture with me to my quarters, perhaps you wouldn’t need the rum to distract you -"

Any thought of continuing his salacious remark dies on his lips as he notices the way that she seems to be growing more angry with every passing minute.

"Thanks for the help, pirate," Emma spits out, turning on her heel and storming down the hall.  

Well, it’s certainly been some time since she’s called him  _that_.  Killian puts the book on the window seat and rises quickly.  She’s already well down the hallway before he can catch up with her.  He grabs her with his hand to stop her.

"Emma," he says, catching tears in her eyes when she spins around to stop him.  "Emma, what’s wrong? I’m sorry about that remark, I - "

"It’s fine," Emma says, wiping her eyes quickly. "I’m sorry I was short with you, I’m just really pissed off."

Killian nods his head, nervous to ask his next question but he does so anyway.  ”Would you care to tell me about it, love?”

Emma’s response is a short huff of frustration or amusement (he can’t tell sometimes with her).  ”It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.  Well-meaning parents trying to get their daughter back together with who they think is her true love.”

At Emma’s words, Killian looks down and away.  He’s been witness to far too many moments engineered by Snow White and Prince Charming, moments where Emma has been flung at  ~~Baelfire~~ Neal in the hopes of a reconciliation. Each moment makes his stomach drop, less because a potential reunion ruins his own chances with Emma, and more because it seems that no one in the palace ever pays attention to what Emma really desires.   _Who_  she desires may be an unanswered question, butshe most certainly does not wish to be constantly thrown into situations with Neal.  This is not the first time that he has seen her upset, but he’s never seen her so angry.

"Aye, well-meaning," he tells her with a small smile.  "They do care for you, lass, even if they don’t always know how to."

"Listening to me would be a good way to start," Emma points out with a weak smile of her own.  "Like you do."

Her words make his heart jump just a little, and the grin that breaks out on his face is beyond his control.  ”So why the need for rum, Swan?”

Emma looks away from him.  ”Neal and I finally talked about my time in jail.”

Killian has heard bits and pieces of this story over the time he’s known Emma, but this is new information.  ”And what does Neal have to do with this?”

Emma frowns.  ”I thought you knew - he let me go to jail because Pinocchio told him to.”

As Emma speaks, there is a commotion from the end of the hallway - from the room she just left.  Guards are being summoned, it seems, and Killian looks at Emma, who has a horrified look on her face.

"Love, did your parents happen to be present during this discussion?"

"They might have been…"

Killian shakes his head.  ”As much as I do not want to pity a man that I am in competition with over a woman’s heart, I do know that your father packs quite the punch.  Perhaps you should - “

Emma nods.  ”Yeah.  Neal deserves a lot of crap, but not being thrown into the dungeons overnight.”

"After you, then" Killian indicates with a flourish of his hand.  Emma starts to move down the hallway but stops, looking back at him.

"It’s not a competition, you know," she tells him.  "There’s never been anyone but you."

Killian stops, jaw dropping slightly before he can think better of himself.  Emma smirks, then turns to walk towards the commotion.  ”You better find that rum,” she calls out over her shoulder.

Killian nods, turning to head to his quarters, his heart lighter than it’s been in years


	7. never have i ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based on a prompt asking that they play a game to reacquaint themselves with each other post 3x11

**Never have I ever**

Emma turns the radio in the bug down (there is a finite amount of times she can listen to 'Don't Stop Believing' - a limit that she has but that Henry does not, apparently).

"Is he asleep?" she asks Hook, who looks over his shoulder.

"Aye, he is," he tells her.  Emma glances in the rear-view mirror just to make sure, and is grateful that Henry has apparently put in his headphones too, to lull him to sleep.  They're two hours outside of New York, just passing Hartford, and they've got another three hours to go. She's out of coffee but Hook is on the look-out for gas stations (she's told him three of the least sketchy chains and described their signs for him, so that should be enough).  He's proving to be a decent navigator, and he's pretty silent too though she can tell he's so full of nervous energy he's practically near bursting.  

Unfortunately for her, she's not ready to deal with that energy right now.  Henry about wore her out with his excitement at returning to Storybrooke - which, Hook says, now exists in some form of another due to a curse that chucked everyone out of the Enchanted Forest and back into this world, a curse that he missed because he's been looking for her.  He doesn't tell her how much time he's spent looking, not in words so much as his eyes, which always speak way more about him (or maybe she can just read him better than she can others).

"Over yonder, Swan.”  Hook indicates an exit which includes several gas stations that she’s deemed not-sketch, so she puts her blinker on and exits the interstate.

She tops off the tank of the bug before pulling into the large station, with a well-lit parking lot.  She still wakes up Henry before they head into the food mart, handing him her pepper spray and making the groggy teen promise that he’ll use it.  She locks the doors then turns to Hook, hands in the pocket of her coat.

“Coffee,” she says, “and snacks.”

Hook follows her dutifully, ignoring the glances from truckers and other late-night drivers.  Emma heads for the coffee first.  It’s probably burnt and disgusting, but she doesn’t care because she’s bone-weary yet oh-so-awake at the prospect of seeing her family again.  She grabs an insulated cup and pours herself one, then another for Hook.  Handing it to him, she tells him, “taste it then add your cream and sugar.”

Hook takes a sip, his face contorting to a grimace.  “Never have I ever tasted something so foul, Swan,” he says, and she raises her eyebrows, alarmed at how loud he seems in such a small space.

“Cream and sugar, Hook,” she tells him.  She grabs a packet of sugar and dumps it into her own cup, then more, and then decides on a few French Vanilla creamer packets of questionable origin.  “Never have I ever taught a pirate to doctor his coffee,” she says with a wink.  Hook raises and eyebrow but follows her lead.  When he finally tastes his coffee, he pulls another face.

“Too sweet?” Emma asks.  Hook shrugs his shoulders.

“Your realm is a constant wonder, Swan,” he tells her. She laughs.

“Yeah, well, wait until we get to the snack food aisle.”

Hook is dumbfounded by the choices, and Emma knows the feeling all too well.  She grabs a pack of pizza-flavored Combos for Henry and some popcorn, and turns to find Hook still staring at the variety of pretzels available.

“Never have you ever seen such selection?” she teases.  Hook over at her slightly aghast.

“I grew up eating a crust of bread and bowl of stew each day, if I was lucky – this is abundance.”

Emma’s smile fades as she remembers his comments on the beanstalk, about her being an orphan, and she swallows.  She can’t imagine what sort of life he must have led in his realm, could never imagine anyone ever had it worse than her but he did, she knows he must have if he spotted her own pain so quickly.  She grabs a few bags of Chex Mix.

“These are my favorite.”  He seems to be settled by her recommendation, and follows her to the cashier, not commenting as she grabs a few Twix bars and a couple bottles of water on the way.  They pay for their coffee and head to the car.  She passes the food to Henry, who mumbles something and falls back asleep as they pull out, Combos forgotten on his lap.

“Let’s play a game,” Emma says. “Never have I ever.”

“Never have you ever what, Swan?”

“It’s a game.  You say something, and if the person you’re playing with has done the deed in question, they take a sip.  Usually of alcohol, but we can use our coffee instead.”

She can hear the intrigue in his voice as he agrees. “All right, Swan – do your worst.”

“Okay…never have I ever crossed realms.”

They both take a sip.

“Does it matter how many realms?” Hook asks.  Emma shakes her head and then turns to him.

“Why – how many realms have you been to?”

Hook is silent for a moment, then answers, “Four.  Yours, the Enchanted Forest, Wonderland and Neverland.”

“That’s quite a few realms,” Emma remarks. “No, you don’t have to take a sip for every realm.  Your turn.”

Hook considers his question, then asks, “Never have I ever forgotten who I was.”

“No fair – you know that wasn’t my choice.” But Emma drinks nonetheless. Her turn.

“Never have I ever won a swordfight,” she says, and they both drink.

“Really, Swan, you must regale me with this tale some time.”  Emma glances over to see Hook smiling at her, illuminate by the lights from the dashboard and the lights from the cars around them, and she smiles back.  She didn’t know how badly she missed him until this very moment – how natural it is to have him sitting beside her, talking to her, asking ridiculous questions and drinking horrible gas station brew

“Some other time,” she promises him.  “Your turn.”

“Never have I ever lied,” he says.  Emma drinks – they both do.

“And here I thought you were the paragon of virtue, lass,” Hook teases.  Emma snorts.

“I never said I don’t lie – I just can tell if people are lying.”

“Fair enough.  Your turn.”

“Never have I ever cheated.”  Only Emma drinks.  She turns to him.  “You’ve never cheated, Hook?”

He shifts in his seat.  “Does that surprise you?”

Emma shakes her head.  “I guess it doesn’t.”  She grows silent for a moment.  “This isn’t cheating? Coming to get me, to bring me home and save the day? I’m your ace in the hole, aren’t I?”

“I hardly think bringing the Savior back to her people counts as cheating.”  Hook grows silent as well, and she can feel the tension grow between them with her questioning of his motivation.  She knows that he’s come to bring her home because her family is in danger, that the threat is real and that she may very well be the only salvation they have.  He has apologized profusely for interrupting her life here, and while it doesn’t matter that much in the grand scheme of things (she would rather have her real life than borrowed memories)...

“Never have I ever crossed realms to bring home the Savior,” she says.  Hook groans.

“Bad form, Emma,” he points out while dutifully taking a sip of his drink nonetheless.  She smiles, switches lanes.

“Just how long did it take you to find me?” Emma asks, eyes focused on the darkened road ahead.  She’s been curious and he’s never explicitly stated how long he traveled, and how he did find her. 

“I’m not quite sure.”  She glances over, sees Hook studying the lip of his cup.  “Long enough.”

“How long were you in the Enchanted Forest before you left?”

“A little less a year.”

Emma gasps.  “You’ve been here looking for me for that long?”  She had thought maybe a week, but this new knowledge may mean he’s been here a least a month if not longer.

In her peripheral vision, she can see Hook nod. “Well, I did have to get to the portal first, and then – “

“That is a long time to look for someone,” she says, feeling her heart catch in her throat when she thinks about Hook, in all his leather swag, searching the far reaches of this realm for her and not finding her right away. If the Enchanted Forest is foreign to her, she can’t even imagine what he did on his own here, in her strange world.

“Emma,” he says softly, and she turns to glance at him.  His face is earnest, his words soft.  “I would scour all the realms if I needed to, just to find you again.”

Her face grows hot, and she doesn’t know what to say.  Her thoughts about his traveling still linger, and she feels something akin to pain at what he must have gone through to find her.  His words about her – and how he would risk everything to find her – make her feel a hell of a lot of things she’s not ready to deal with yet.  She remembers his promise to think of her as if it was yesterday, remembers all that he’s done for her over the course of their acquaintance, and she bites back a sob.

“Lass, are you all right.  I’m sorry if my words have injured you, I – “

Emma turns to face him and the words die in his mouth.

“Never have I ever had someone care as much about me as you do,” she says, voice low and tight.   Hook looks unsure of what to say.

Finally, he speaks.  “I always will.”  It’s a promise, she knows, and one that he will always keep, even if she doesn’t have words to describe the way she feels about him – the things he makes her feel, like she’s better than she really is and has the potential to be even better still.  There’s a reverence in his phrasing, in the way he looks at her when he think she’s not looking, and for a lost girl who’s done some pretty shitty things in her life, it’s almost too much to handle. 

And yet, she’s grateful for it, wonders if Hook sees something in her that she can’t see herself.   Wonders if he’ll chip away at the layers that hide this supposed brilliance underneath and uncover it.

It’s a risk she’s willing to take.

“Never have I ever been trapped in Neverland,” she says.  Hook groans, and takes a sip, but if there’s a small smile on his lips, and one mirrored on her own, well, that’s not due to the coffee.

It really is the worst coffee ever.


	8. navigating new territory (drabble)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt 'hook and emma fighting over their side of the bed'

Emma stops in the doorway and takes in the view.

Killian stands at the foot of the bed, wearing a pair of pajama bottoms they just purchased this afternoon and no shirt (apparently the frigid cold of the loft doesn’t bother him at all, which she doesn’t find that surprising since he never freaking buttoned that black shirt of his ever).  The cuff that holds his hook has been carefully placed on the chair in the corner of the room, along with the black leather that he insists on wearing even though she’s offered to buy him other clothing (“I’ll accommodate you with the sleeping garments, love, but I’m rather fond of my leathers”).

She closes the door and bites her lip when he turns towards her, eyes wary.

This is the first time that Emma’s asked him to spend the night – not just a casual ‘stay’ when he tries to slip out of bed after incredibly awesome sex, not accidentally falling asleep next to each other on the couch after watching too many episodes of Game of Thrones.   This is deliberate and planned and a celebration of Emma’s newfound independence now that Mary-Margaret and David have moved into a cute little house just around the corner and the loft is now hers.

(And of course there was sex on the counter, and then again in the shower now that there’s no one to interrupt them or speed them up, no concerns about having to share the hot water with anyone other than themselves.)

The tips of her hair are still wet, and brush against her bare shoulders as she takes a step forward.

“Do you have a preference?” Killian asks quietly, and it takes her a moment before she realizes that he’s asking her about the bed.

“Oh,” she says, slightly taken aback because she’s never been asked this question before.  The last actual relationship she had where someone spent the night was Neal, and that was long ago when she was not used to having a bed of her own and, anyway, they slept in the Bug most of the time.  She’s grown up since then, developed her own habits and preferences but she’s never had the opportunity to choose – never had anyone ask her to choose a side or ask what she wanted.

Until Killian.  And that’s all that he does.  He’s so intent on making sure that she’s happy that she wonders how often he overlooks himself in the process.

“Not really.”  Her eyes glance over and meet his.  “Do you?”

Killian takes a step towards the bed, lets his fingers trace the pattern of the comforter, the dark paisleys in various shades of red that Killian helped her pick out earlier that week.  “I’m not really sure.  I guess I’m used to sleeping on the left side of the bed.”

“That’s fine,” Emma says, taking a step towards him and wrapping her arms around his waist.  She presses a kiss between his shoulder blades and enjoys how his breath hitches when her hands rest against his chest.   “It sounds fine to me.”

He gives a small laugh that’s more of an exhalation of air than anything else, reaching up to cover her hands with his larger one.  “I hope so,” he tells her, and she smiles against his skin.  


	9. lost in translation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the tumblr prompt "Emma and Hook have very different understandings of the phrase 'breakfast in bed'"

**lost in translation**

Emma and Henry like to eat at Granny’s diner, and so Hook has taken to joining them for many a meal.  It is nice to find an establishment that seems friendly towards him and is _not_ a tavern, brothel, or gambling den, and he knows that he is growing on Granny slowly but surely (he is fairly certain that assisting with the incident last week with an intoxicated dwarf has slightly endeared him to her).

He does not know what they are – Emma and himself – because she does not define it and so he leaves it ambiguous as well.  They are more than friends and most definitely lovers, but he does not sleep in her bed save for when her lad is not around, nor does he ask.  Their relationship is fragile because in spite of her protestations, Emma is fragile herself and so he does not push, nor rush, nor ask for more than is given.

That morning, she and her son enter and join Killian in the booth in the back, like they have taken to doing.    The lad seems to be in an excitable mood today, enthusiastically sliding into the seat across from Killian while Emma stops to chat with Granny at the counter. 

“Good morning, young sir,” Killian says with a slight nod of his head, and Henry smiles (he is growing on the boy too, he knows).

“So,” he asks, “what are you doing for my mom for Valentine’s day?”

Killian frowns, unsure of what gibberish the boy is speaking (there are many things in this realm that he doesn’t understand, the vernacular being the most vexing).  “I don’t catch your meaning.”

“Valentine’s day is next week, and that’s when you do something for the person you love.  It’s a tradition here, and I thought since you and my mom were dating that you would be doing something for her.”  Henry roots around in his sack and pulls out a piece of paper just as Ruby comes to refill the coffee Killian has been sipping.  Henry pushes it across the table.  “I wrote down some ideas for you.”

Killian takes the paper, trying too hard not to think about the way that Henry just declared his relationship with Emma so casually, and skims the suggestions. Some are ideas that Killian is familiar (write a sonnet, compose a song, flowers and wooing) and others are a bit odd (what exactly is a hot air balloon?) and there is one –

He spits out his coffee and looks up in horror at Henry.  The suggestion is both ridiculous and wrong – how can the child write that? Does he kiss his mother with such a foul mouth?  It’s not that he hasn’t contemplated the sort of sort of thing, hasn’t been brave enough to attempt it because he hasn’t spent a morning with Emma yet, but…

Emma slides into the booth next to him, nudges him with her shoulder.  “Hey,” she asks, a look of concern crossing her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Emma,” Killian starts, shaking his head.  He glances at the lad (he looks confused) and back at Emma, who is glancing down the list of suggestions and sees the one that Killian is pointing to.  “This is…”

_Inappropriate for a child to suggest?_

_Something he really would like to engage in?_

_Wrong, on so many levels, to speak of in such a fine establishment with such excellent coffee?_

Emma looks at his finger, reads the words, and then looks up at him.  Something crosses her face – confusion?understanding? something else? – before she smiles easily.  “That’s when you make food and bring it to your significant other in bed.”

“What did you think it was?” Henry asks, and Emma smirks at Killian, who feels as if he just burning up with embarrassment.

“Aren’t you late for school?” Emma asks, standing up and ushering a protesting Henry out of Granny’s with a banana and a muffin (“what did he think it was?”)  before returning to Killian’s booth.  She slides next to him, and raises her eyebrows. 

“The king of innuendos…” she says.  “You seem awful flustered.”

Killian coughs, shifts in the seat, determines what his next move might be.  He decides to act on it so he wraps his arm around her and pulls her close.

“I think you would have liked my interpretation better than this suggestions,” he whispers into her ear, lingering a moment too long before pulling away (he can feel the shiver go through her body and feels her hand come to rest on his thigh.

“I’ll pretend to be surprised,” she tells him, voice barely above a purr. 

(She does.)

 


	10. creation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: creation

"And this, your Majesty, is the creation of your house with the birth of the first sovereign, Walter the Kind..."

Emma nods, meeting the docent's eyes as he points to yet another one of her ancestors whose paintings line the wall of the gallery.  Beside her, she can hear her escort shift, the scuff his boots on the floor as they proceed to the next painting.  

This outing was her parent's idea. Captain Liam Jones is the most-lauded captain in all the royal fleet.  Her parents love the man, heap praises on him and his younger brother, who is now standing beside her.  Lieutenant Jones is not yet a captain, but her parents say that he will be by the end of the year and then, perhaps, Emma might cast a favorable eye upon him.  

This constant push to marry her off is frustrating, but she supposes at seven-and-ten she should consider her prospects and as far as prospects go, she's could do far worse than Lieutenant Killian Jones. He is handsome, and well manner, and he looks about as bored as she is right now.

His lips move silently as they progress to the next painting, hands clasped behind his back, and Emma smiles.  The Jewel of the Realm is set to sail tomorrow and he probably would rather be on his ship, preparing.

"What time do you set sail?" she whispers when the docent turns his back.

"Sunrise, but if all of the supplies aren't loaded and the crew is indisposed then we won't make it out of port until mid-day," he replies automatically, then stops.  His mouth is agape for a moment before he closes it, slowly, and his eyes meet hers before looking down.

"I apologize, Princess Emma," he tells her, and she can see his face flush. 

"I understand, Lieutenant."  Emma smiles easily, because she does understand - she would rather not spend her afternoon pleasantly admiring paintings of dead kings.

"It's not the company, your highness, it's just that my ship - " Lieutenant Jones stutters out, and the flush deepens.  His eyes are wide when he says, "It's not you."

The honesty of his statement takes Emma's breath away, and for a moment it's like she really sees the young officer standing before her.  His eyes are wide and so very blue, and there's something about the earnestness in his gaze that makes her look away least she betray something (what, she doesn't know).

"Princess Emma?" the docent says softly.  She looks back up at the older man, who is waiting patiently to proceed.

"Of course."  She smiles and nods.  As they proceed down the hall to another room full of more portraits, she lets her hand fall by her side.  And when his fingers brush against hers softly, she can't help but smile.  

(She doesn't dare look up to see if his face mirrors her own, but she hopes it does).


	11. clothes make the man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and failed domesticity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so artielu prompted me this a while ago and I started working on it and then wasn’t sure about it. I’m still not, but I found it in my file of unfinished fic so…yeah. I’m not used to writing Emma angst, so let’s try this?

 

 

**clothes make the man**

It feels like an invasion of privacy, opening the chest where he stores his clothes, but Killian’s given her permission to come and go as she pleases and she does but this is his home, not hers.  This is his space, which she only ever occupies when he’s there to occupy it with her, and so it is strange for Emma to be here without home, going through his clothes.

(She doesn’t know where he is – she assumes that he’s with her father, because if he’s not with her then he’s with David – but she hopes that wherever he is, he’s not coming home soon because explaining this might be a bit awkward.)

The chest is kept out of sight in a storage compartment, and Emma feels so strange reaching for it and pulling it out but the thought – of doing something for him, after all that he’s done for her – pushes her forward, lets her open the lid. 

It is spring in Storybrooke, and the weather has become such that being protected from the elements is not a priority, and so Killian sheds his coat and vest and leather pants for clothes from this ream, which Emma graciously has helped him find.  He is still all his swagger and bravado, drawing her attention like a moth to a flame, and even though there have been tentative steps in the direction of a relationship, neither of them has made a leap yet.

Regardless of the fact that he’s wearing jeans and t-shirts that in such a way that Emma goes weak in the knees, she can tell that he doesn’t feel quite at home in his new clothing (he comments on it on the regular, either while making innuendos about characters on TV shows or bemoaning his lack of coverage during particularly bad storms).  He’s even shown her his Navy uniform (which is why she knows about the chest) and while he doesn’t talk about his time as an officer, she can tell he’s wistful for clothing from his home, not hers.

The clothes that Killian has stored away below the uniform are simple shirts that she remembers seeing on others during her time in the Enchanted Forest, made of thin cloth which, as she turns them over in her hands, show careful repair work.  Small, neat stiches made to prolong the life of the garment, patches that match exactly – cut from other garments, reused for this purpose.  Some of them have slightly different color thread, but all of them are neatly done, stitched by someone who shows great attention to every detail of his life.

Emma can’t help but smile as she runs her fingers over the shirts.   She’s not sure that they’re fit for wearing out in public, but maybe he could sleep in them.  Maybe they would make him feel better.

(And if she’s blushing at the thought of him sleeping in something, she’ll blame it on the fact that their relationship hasn’t progressed to the point of knowing what the other wears – or doesn’t – while sleeping and she actually is not that surprised to realize that this is something she does want to know.)

She bundles the shirts into her oversized bag, and returns to the loft.  They smell musty and old, and Emma has decided to wash them because she’s not sure how Killian washes anything on his ship and it would be rude to ask – for all she knows, he does laundry at her parent’s new house (he probably does, it seems like something David would totally teach him).

She remembers all too well the joys of public Laundromats, hours spent waiting for just one load of clothing to dry all because the dryers were pieces of shit (she didn’t have much when she was with Neal, and she’s still not someone who hordes things). Sure, it was fun to people-watch, but the process itself was difficult for someone like Emma, who doesn’t want the world to know her dirty laundry let alone _see_ her actual, physical dirty laundry.

If she can make things easier for Killian in some way, she’ll do it.

The dryer dings, and Emma puts down the magazine she’s been reading and goes to unload it.  It’s only when she holds up the first of the shirts that she realizes that these are probably 100% cotton and she has probably 100% shrunk them.

Fear and panic shoot through her body because _these are not her clothes_ and _he doesn’t know she has them here_ and he kept them for a reason, or so she suspects.  She paws her way through the other shirts and – yep, completely shrunk down to Henry-sized. 

She fists one in her hand and holds it up to her face, sinking to the ground of the small laundry room of the loft, because the emotions flooding through her start with panic and end with regret with sorrow somewhere in between.

She had no right to take his clothes.  She had no right to ruin them.  And most of all, she’s stripped something away from him in the process of trying to do good, and that was whatever nostalgia he associated with these shirts, because unlike Emma, Killian is a man who values memories.  She’s seen that much in the way he keeps his brother’s possessions on him, hidden in a coat pocket.  Everything of Milah’s is in another box in that room (she knows because she asked about it once, which made for an awkward moment).  And these, they could have been Liam’s for all she knows.

And she has ruined them.

And that is completely, utterly, absolutely _not okay_.

This is how he finds her later, clutching a tear-stained shirt that is several sizes too small, slumped against the still-warm dryer.

“What’s wrong, Swan?” he asks, and she doesn’t have the heart to ask him how he got in here, or why, because she did far worse today trespassing on his territory.

She doesn’t respond, and so he looks down at the garment in her lap.  Killian’s eyes go wide and he looks at her, confused.

“You said that you missed your old clothing,” Emma says wearily, leaning her head back against the dryer.  “I thought maybe I could wash these?”  She laughs bitterly.  “Actually, who am I kidding, I didn’t think much at all.”

“Emma…” Killian crouches down beside her, treating her like she’s some fragile thing that he’s afraid to touch.  He flexes his fingers, reaching toward the shirt, trailing them across the fabric.  “What happened?”

“It shrunk.”

Killian nods.  “And you did this because I kept talking about my leathers?”

“Yeah.”  Emma refuses to look at him.  He takes the shirt from her hands, turns it over in his own.

“And you’re upset because…?”

Emma looks up, surprised.  “I ruined your clothes!”  The admission explodes from her, frightening in its intensity, and she claps her hands over her mouth in shock before the tears threaten to explode out of her.  She’s such a mess over a stupid piece of fabric but she knows it’s because it’s _his_.

He rocks back on his heels, hand up defensively.   “Swan, it’s fine, really it is.”

“Why would it be?”

Killian smiles, reaching forward to brush her hair out of her face. “Because I don’t really hate these clothes you want me to wear.  I might miss my leathers, and I might miss my other pirate attire, but I don’t feel any fierce need to revisit my old wardrobe.  Those were the clothes of another man, one whose shadow followed me for far too long.” He smiles.  “You might have freed me from him in more ways than one.”

Emma opens her mouth and then closes it again, unsure of what to say.  Instead, Killian speaks.

“It’s no matter, love.”  He holds up the shirt.  “Looks like it might fit you.  You can keep it, if you’d like.”

Emma huffs out a laugh.  “Thanks?”

“I think I’m the one that should be thanking you.”  Killian stands up, and extends his hand.  “Anyway, the reason I’m here is because your father has been trying to reach you.  Your mother is making a roast for supper and requests your presence.”

Emma rolls her eyes and grabs his hand, allowing him to pull her up.  “Roast, huh?”

“It smelled delicious,” he tells her, face perilously close to her own.  “Shall we?”

“Who invited you to dinner?” she asks as she grabs her keys, even though she knows the answer.

“Your father happens to enjoy my company – more so than his daughter,” Killian says with a wink as he opens the door, and as he speaks she realizes how wrong he really is.

“Sorry about the shirts,” she says as she locks the door.  “I was just – I wanted to do something for you, since you do so much for me.” 

The look on his face is similar, oddly enough, to how he looked when he first saw her in New York all those months ago – there is a softness to it, the way that he smiles at her with that easy smile.  He scratches the back of his head with his hand, and shrugs his shoulders.  “That is very thoughtful of you, Swan,” he tells her.  “But like I said, perhaps I should be thanking you.”

“Yeah, well, we can argue who is thanking who more on the way to dinner.”  She brushes by him in the hallway, smacking into his with her hip.   He laughs, and all feels right with the world.

(And if, when they eventually do stumble into bed, he is surprised that she wears that shirt, the look on his face when he casually removes it is worth every minute of frustration over her own supposed stupidity).


	12. untitled clothing drabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When spoilers for Killian's Season 4 costume became know, I received a prompt for this.

Killian pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers and sighs.   Behind him, spread across Emma’s bed, are bags full of clothing that he neither requested nor desired, but which he will try on – for her – to indulge her (he is fast learning there is no limit to what he will do for her).   He can hear her pacing outside the door, her mother and father and son with her, and he is not entirely sure he is ready to be subjected to their curious looks right now.

It was Emma’s idea that he replace the clothes of the Enchanted Forest with something from her realm, and though her reasoning is solid – it is growing increasingly cold with the ice queen lingering in town, unable to control her magic, angry and hurt at being locked away for so long – and his leathers protect only so much. She offered to pay for the clothing despite his protestations, but as he does not have the currency of this realm (and Emma insisted there were other ways that he could repay her) and so he left her and her mother to their devices while he patrolled the perimeter of the town with her father.

And now, he finds himself dressed to yet another outfit carefully selected by his love and her mother, and he wishes (not for the first time) that she did not have him wrapped around her slender finger (and yet he would not have it any other way).

The first few articles of clothing were rejected immediately (David’s enthusiastic “Hey! We match!” meant that Killian would not be wearing any articles of plaid for the time being – he does not want to lose his menacing reputation too quickly, despite his affection for the prince) and he is not a fan of whatever sort of _jeans_ are _skinny_. There was an article of pants with multiple pockets which would prove quite useful but only Emma’s boy was smart enough to endorse that selection.

There was also a coat, made of black wool, that reminded him greatly of his naval uniform. He told Emma as much, and when she told him that she could return it, he shook his head.

“The past is the past,” he told her. Besides, those coats did excellent jobs at keeping the wearer warm (he thinks of Liam as he runs his fingers down the double row of buttons, wonders if his brother would wear something like this in the Land Without Magic, and decides that he would).

Now he stands, clad in heavy pants made of a fabric called denim, which he had first worn with the plaid shirt and which he now wears with a grey shirt with two bottoms at the top. He grabs a black sweater and pulls it over his head (it is drafty in this apartment, so close to the sea).

“Are you ever going to come out?” Emma asks, tapping against the door. “I promise I won’t laugh.”

He takes a deep breath, and turns the handle.

The first thing he sees his Emma, and the way that her mouth opens, then closes, and then she swallows.

“Oh,” the princess says in the background, and Killian runs his hands through his hair, tugs on the sweater. He does not like being the object of this type of scrutiny.

“Will this do?” he asks, and Emma smiles, wide and a little breathless, as she approaches him. She straightens out his collar, fingers brushing against his neck, and his pulse races (he wonders if he will ever stop feeling this giddy in her close proximity, and hopes it is never the case).

“It’ll do nicely,” she tells him with a shy smile, leaning forward to press a kiss against the corner of his mouth, and Killian cannot agree more.


	13. and i am finally seeing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a lyric drabble promt on Tumblr

He taps his fingertip against the tabletop, trying very hard not to be obvious about the way that he watches her with her family, the wide smile that crosses her face and the way that her hair falls across her shoulder that makes his fingers itch to touch the golden strands. Instead, he sips his coffee, forgetting to be mindful of the fact that Ruby has just refreshed the beverage and it’s too hot (his tongue burns and it’s almost a welcome distraction).

It has been five days since Emma kissed him, and he has barely had any time with her since then – there is always something new threatening the town, and this time it’s a queen who wield ice and snow as her weapons. There have been moments that have been stolen (her mouth moving desperate against his, his hand brushing across her face, the thought of discovery always on his mind) and she has snuck her own fair share of glances in his general direction over the course of the time it’s taken him to drink two cups of coffee, but nothing else.

Killian isn’t entirely sure what he expected to happen after her lips touched his: it has been too long since he wooed anyone, and that person as already on his ship. Emma is not Milah, just like this world is not the Enchanted Forest, and even his brief sojourn into New York has not given him much insight into the culture and customs of this land. Beyond the matter of courtship, he has no real place to call a home. The lodgings he stays in are temporary, and without a boat he has no real course of employment, no idea how to make money to find more permanent quarters.

That is, if she wants him to stay.

He wants her to want him stay.

He sips his coffee again, grateful that it has cooled down slightly, grateful that it provides him a suitable distraction for his turbulent thoughts. During the year without her, he dreamed of a reunion but even as he sold the J _olly Roger_ and ventured into the portal, he wasn’t sure what that reunion would be liked and yet –

“Hey.”

She slides onto the stool next to him, nudging his shoulder against her own, leather brushing against leather. “Did that coffee do something to offend you?” she asks, with that shy smile that she reserves for him and him alone (or so he’s noticed).

He merely raises an eyebrow and puts the mug down, turning to her. “I was wondering when you would approach me, with all those heated glances you kept casting my way,” he tells her with a smirk, trying to direct the conversation away from her comment, and Emma rolls her eyes.

“You’re just as bad with the puppy dog eyes,” she points out. Her voice drops, becomes gentler. “Do you want to come sit with me? Mary Margaret and David are leaving for a doctor’s appointment with the baby and I…” she trails off, glancing at her fingers splayed against the countertop, before looking back up to him again. “I wanted another cup of coffee.”

There’s something about the way that she looks at him when she says it makes his breath catch and so he takes a sip of his own beverage and nods, slipping off the stool and following her to the table. Her parents are departing, her mother wrapping the baby carrier with blankets to stave off the cold, and before he joins her at the now-empty booth, her father pats him on the shoulder.

“See you around, Killian,” the prince calls at they leave the diner.

It causes him to stop, put his mug on the table, and collect himself for a moment before slipping into the booth beside her (he doesn’t care who notices, all he cares about is the press of her thigh against his, the way that her hair brushes against his coat, and the way that she holds his hand under the table as she tells him about the one-bedroom apartment that she saw a few blocks from the dock that she thinks might be perfect for him).


	14. still with hearts beating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyric prompts on Tumblr :) "Oh, I didn't see you were taking music inspired prompts! I want to test out your angst -> fluff conversion abilities (when you find the time, of course!), so here is Daughter's "Still" for Captain Swan: "Biting words like a wolf howling, hate is spitting out each other's mouths, but we're still sleeping like we're lovers (Still with feet touching, still with eyes meeting, still our hands match, still with hearts beating)"."

There is anger inside of her that threatens to spill out in a torrent of magic she can’t control, so she bites her lip hard enough for it to bleed and slams the door behind her (she hears the picture frame fall onto the floor and the glass shatter and she wonders if it’s only bad luck when it’s a mirror that breaks).

She rests against the door, closing her eyes and letting her head fall backwards. She can faintly hear movement in the other room – shuffling, curses – and she waits for the front door to slam.

It doesn’t.

Emma sinks down to the floor, back still pressed against the door.   Any minute now, the front door will slam and he will be gone (like all of the others, one way or another) and she will have to live with not being good enough for someone else (foster parents on down the line, the faces blurring as the tears start to form).

She sniffles, catches herself before she cries, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand.   She’s mad and anger and furious and frustrated and words that aren’t even in the dictionary (Killian should know better than going up against that ice bitch without her, he doesn’t have any magic, _he could have been killed_ ).   And he had acted so flippantly – like it didn’t even fucking matter, like risking life or limb was completely ordinary.

She tucks her knees into her chest, rests her chin on them, trying to calm her breathing, trying not to cry at his abandonment, at yet another loss–

-        and that’s when she hears it: scraping, brushing, the jangle of glass.

Emma stands up, flinging the door open to find Killian trying (rather deftly) to maneuver a broom and dustbin with a hand and a hook, crouched down on the floor. The picture of her and Henry in front of the Storybrooke sign is on the coffee table (the frame is broken, its pieces shattered among the shards of glass on the floor).

“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice harsher than she would like but Killian doesn’t seem to notice.

“Cleaning up ,” he tells her like it’s ordinary, like they haven’t just had a huge fight, his eyes not looking at her but staring at the floor.   She watches as he brushes the glass into the dustbin, and then she stoops and reaches for the pieces of the frame. Silence stretches between them for what feels like infinity, ending when he stands and dumps the glass into the trashcan.

“I’m sorry,” Killian says, after a prolonged period of silence, leaning against the kitchen counter far from where Emma crouches on the living room floor. “I shouldn’t have gone against her on my own. I should have waited for reinforcements.”

Emma swallows, placing the wooden pieces on the coffee table next to the picture. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” she responds, afraid to look up at his face (instead, she hears his footsteps draw closer until he’s crouching next to her, so close that she could reach out and touch him).

“I can handle myself, love – have for some time, in fact,” he reminds her, and when she looks up at him, and sees the earnestness in his eyes, she can’t help but reach for him.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispers as she buries her face in his neck, fingers clutching desperately at his t-shirt, grateful that his arms are around her, holding her tightly to him.

“Oh, Swan, I’m afraid you’ll have to get rid of me first,” he tells her and she knows that it’s him being light, being himself, trying to make everything better, but the words serve their purpose: she inhales, slowly, her heart returning to normal. His hand strokes up and down her spine in time with her breathing, and when she moves to rest her forehead against his, she knows that he’s telling her the truth.


	15. takes one to know one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Oh, you're acting your thin disguise/All your perfectly delivered lines/They don't fool me/You've been lonely, too long OR Let me in the wall/You've built around/We can light a match/And burn it down (Dust to Dust by The Civil Wars). Sorry for being greedy, but I just listened to this song and all I could think of was Captain Swan."

**takes one to know one**

She watches him as he talks to her father, observing the way that his chin comes up and his thumb rests against his belt buckles. His stance is wide, his hips cocked, his look carefully calculated to be disaffected and unamused and more than a bit macho all at once.

She can see right through it.

There are many sides to Killian Jones, and Emma sees them all: the swaggerific pirate captain, the lost and desperate man, the would-be lover, the redeemed hero.   He changes from one to the other so seamlessly that it takes her some time to identify all of his personas.

Of course, it takes one to know one.

She knows all about carefully constructed masks, about hiding behind something to keep herself safe.   It shouldn’t bother her so much that he acts like this, even with her, but it does, and she can’t quite put her finger on why. She’s got her own walls (eight feet high and eight feet thick and he tears them down with an ease she can’t even imagine) and she shouldn’t demand that his come tumbling down just because they’re dancing around some sort of relationship (she doesn’t know what to call it, what they are, but she won’t give it up for all the world).

Her father walks away and Killian turns to her with a glance that is more Hook than himself, raised eyebrow and impatient scowl, and she crosses her arms across her chest. There is a chill in the air but that’s more common than not these days, and her words are followed by tiny white clouds, hanging in the air between them.

“Turn your swagger off,” she tells him. “You don’t need to prove yourself to me.”

His eyes turn stormy and he swaggers towards her (of course he would), thumb still rubbing against his belt buckle. “Swagger, eh?” he asks, an edge to his voice, and she rolls her eyes and shifts on her feet.

“This…pirate thing,” she says, waving her hand between them. “You only act like that around David.”

His eyebrow jumps towards his hairline. “Really now, love?” he asks, and that edge is still there, cutting her with its harshness.

“Really.” She takes a step closer, places her hand on his arm, and it’s like the façade drops instantly as his eyes flick down to look at her, brow furrowing. “You don’t need to be all bad-ass around me,” she tells him, because it’s true. She wants all of him, from the pirate to the hero, but there are some of his mannerism that seem more difficult, more forced these days – like the way he acts around her father.

“What if I am a bad-ass, as you say, whether or not your father is around?”

“Please,” Emma says, barking out a laugh. “It’s like a pissing contest with him. You’re all super-pirate - like Hook on steroids.”

“Steroids?” Hook asks, and Emma shakes her head.

“You know what? Forget it. I like you just the way you are,” she tells him, and his face softens, his confusion over performance enhancing drugs fading away as he looks at her with in that special way he reserves just for her – like she’s hung the moon or something else. She reaches up to brush her thumb across his cheek and he smiles at her, gentle and easy and something else (the other thing they’re dancing around) and he nods.

“For what it’s worth, your father isn’t much better,” he points out, and Emma shakes her head.

“Don’t get me started on him,” she says (the prince and his bravado around Killian are another thing entirely).


	16. what you seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "I'm giving you a song prompt, because you are a flawless goddess genius and Sam Smith has been on repeat in my room all day: We both have demons, that we can't stand // I love your demons, like devils can // If you're still seeking an honest man // And stop deceiving Lord please"

**what you seek**

The Charmings spend their Saturday nights (when not courting danger) watching movies. It’s a tradition, the prince argues, dating back to when he and his wife would spend their nights in the castle curled up by the fire, reading stories to each other. Having lived in the Enchanted Forest, Killian can think of at least a dozen other activities that one could do on any given night, but he does not object. Instead, he goes along with it, because it means several hours with Emma (the touch of her leg against his, the way that she sometimes falls asleep mid-movie, resting her head against his shoulder, soft snores filling his ears – there is no where he’d rather be, and that is no lie).

Her parents have yet to say anything about his inclusion at their family gathering, and he’s not entirely sure what she told them, because he’s not entirely sure what they are – more than friends, not quite lovers, something in between. But, he at least knows that she wants him with her at her parent’s movie night, and that is enough for now.

Movies are one of the more enjoyable surprises of this ream, and while Killian might not like all of the choices of his hosts (their tastes tend towards the more melodramatic) he still appreciates the opportunities to just sit and allow someone to tell a story _to_ you. This latest one is a bit strange –there are people bursting into song, and he wonders if this perhaps was modeled after that one corner of the Enchanted Forest where the denizens literally will sing to you when they sell you their wares.

They stop the movie so that Emma’s mother can tend to the little prince, and that is when Henry speaks up.

“I don’t see why they sent him to jail for stealing a loaf of bread,” he says, staring at the bowl of popcorn on his lap. “It’s obvious that he’s a good guy – I mean, he took that girl in after her mother died.”

“Well, Henry,” David says, reaching for the bowl and taking a handful, “you can’t just steal bread. That’s against the rules that govern any kingdom.”

“But what if you need it?” Henry presses, and Killian watches as the young boy tries to work out his feelings. Killian has been that boy, needing to steal bread to survive, and he’s also been the reverse – the man stealing not to survive, but to inflict pain. There’s different kinds of morals in the world, as well as different types of justice, and the young lad will learn about it soon enough.

“Other people need it too, and you can’t just allow someone to steal a loaf of bread – what if others do it too, and then there’s no bread? That’s not how the law works, Henry,” David points out. “Rulers should see to it that the needs of their people are met so that no one is hungry.”

“And if not, there are ways to make ends meet that don’t require theft,” Emma adds softly. In the hours that they’ve spent together, kissing and talking and just being together, learning each other, she’s told him some of her past (theft being only a small part of it) and he knows that she does not want her son to make the same mistakes. But Killian agrees with the lad – there are needs and there are wants, and food is not the same as gold or jewels.

“But what if they can’t make ends meet? What if the ruler doesn’t help them? There are a lot of people in the world, and what if that bread just happens to be there –“and that’s when Henry turns his eyes (Baelfire’s eyes) to Killian, and looks at him frantically, like he can provide an answer. “There’s a difference between stealing because you’re a pirate, and stealing because you’re hungry, right?”

His plea is desperate, and he reminds Killian so much of his father right now that he swallows, looks away. Emma shifts next to him, gently saying, “Henry…” as if that will dissuade the boy, but he’s as stubborn as both of his parents (and grandparents, come to think of it) and Killian doesn’t mind answering this question. There is not a lot he can tell Henry about life – at least, not about things that would meet the Charmings’ approval - but he has experience with this.

“Aye, there is,” he tells Henry. “I did things as a pirate that I shouldn’t have – robbing royal vessels and stealing jewels and gold and arms, and I did it out of greed and selfishness.” Killian can still see all the spoils on the deck of the Jolly Roger, emeralds and rubies and diamonds glittering in the sun. He could outfit his ship for an entire year with a large pillage, and yet he kept doing it, over and over again, and the revenge slowly faded away as the greed overtook him for more, more, more.

“I’ve also stolen bread when I was a lad no older than Roland, because there was no way to feed myself otherwise,” Killian admits. He glances up at David. He does not want to get on the prince’s bad side again, not with Emma still determining the nature of their relationship, but he has to be honest. “There are things that I did to survive that I’m not proud of – thievery the least among them – but the key is knowing why you’re doing what you’re doing. Your grandfather is right that it is the job of rulers to take care of their people, but not all rulers are as good as your grandparents. Some are corrupt and care very little about the common man.” He nods his head towards the movie. “I don’t think this king would have helped his people.”

“He’s right,” Mary Margaret says from the other room. She returns, rocking the young prince, a faint smile on her lips. “Intent is what matters. When I was on the run from Regina, I stole if I was hungry, but I never did it to hurt people. I would always try to find a way to compensate them for what I stole later on.”

“A lot easier said then done,” Killian murmurs under his breath, and Emma turns to look at him with a smile. She slips her hand into his, squeezing it, and Killian wonders just how much of his past she wants to know (and just how much of his past he’ll share with her).

Mary Margaret sits down with them again. “I’m not saying that you should steal, Henry – in fact, your mother would put you in jail if you did” (“She’s right” Emma adds) “but I agree that sometimes compassion should be shown in desperate circumstances, and I think you’d make a fantastic ruler because you’re thinking about this sort of thing.”

That seems to appease Henry, but not Killian, who spends the remainder of the movie reliving his dark past over and over again. There are things about him – things that he’s done to maintain order, things that he’s done to keep his crew alive – that he is not especially proud of, but they had to be done to ensure the safety and livelihood of his crew. There are things that he has done which were purely selfish. He’s learned to live with all of these things, but none of them sit especially easy in his stomach when he’s with the Charmings. His journey towards reclaiming the man he was is nowhere near complete/

And yet, and he leaves today, the way that Mary Margaret squeezes his arm as they leave, the way that David shakes his hand, and Henry smiles at him – it makes feel just a bit less like a pirate, and a little more like the man he wants to be again.

“Thanks,” Emma tells him (she’s insisted on walking him home, even though she and Henry plan on spending the night with her parents). Her fingertips brush against his own and he slips his hand into hers, enjoying the warmth on his cold night. “Thanks for talking to Henry – I know it can’t be easy.”

“It’s not,” he admits with a sigh. He could tell her about what he’s done, but he’d rather just enjoy this moment, the two of them alone, the smell of her perfume and the feel of her beside him.

“I know,” Emma says as they draw closer to Granny’s. That is all she says, but she bumps his shoulder with her own, and that makes him smile and bump her back (he is someone else entirely when he is with her, not a pirate, more like a young boy, and he rather enjoys it at times).

When she kisses him outside of the door to his quarters, her fingers brush against the skin of his neck, tracing the strand that holds his charms, and she pulls back, bites her lip.

“So what else did you steal from royal vessels?” she asks, and there’s a look in her eyes that he hasn’t seen since she kissed him all those weeks ago. He tilts his head to the left, looks down at her, curious.

“Are you asking me if I kidnapped any princesses, Swan?” he asks, his hand on her hip drawing him closer, and her lips curve upwards in a smile. “Are you trying to tell me something? Do you want this pirate to kidnap you?” His words send a shiver through her and _oh yes_ he likes where this is going.

“Maybe,” she says, pulling him down for another kiss, more fierce than the first, and Killian growls (princesses are the one commodity he never traded in, but he doesn’t mind pretending to be something he’s not, at least for one night, not when she’s accepted who he was, not when she’s accepted who he is).


	17. just you, just me

She watches him as he leans back against the support post, arms and legs crossed, eyes flitting from one speaker to another, muscles in his jaw working. Even without his leather jacket, even dressed in clothes from this world they bought just last week, there’s still a tension in his shoulders that is more pirate captain than civilian, and she wonders if he will ever truly shed that identity (just like she wonders if she’ll ever stop being a lost girl).

He rolls his eyes after one of her mother’s suggestions, scoffs at one of Regina’s, and interjects when David comes up with something that Emma’s pretty sure would get them killed. When David snaps back, asking if he has any bright ideas, Killian smirks.

“Other than stay alive, you mean?” he offers, and now it’s the rest of the group’s turn to roll their eyes and look disgusted with him.

Emma shakes her head, standing. “I’ll make more coffee,” she offers as she steps away from this Snow Queen strategy session. As she does, she glances up.

His eyes meet hers over the others’ heads and it’s like he deflates, slightly, when she holds his gaze. Gone is the hostility, the brusque nature of the pirate captain (oh the swagger is still there in full-force because that will never go away) and in its place is something quite different as he follows her into the kitchen.

Emma has always suspected that he’s different around her – more charming, less hostile, more vulnerable – but the suspicions have never been confirmed until he’s there next to her, shoulder to shoulder by the sink as the others continue to debate ideas (each one more ridiculous than the last, to be honest).

“Do they really think that any of these ideas would help them take on someone who controls _weather_?” he asks, and when she glances up to meet his eyes, she can see that he is sincere. He’s not mocking them or scorning them – instead, it seems frustrated by the futile suggestions.

Emma pulls the old filter out, hands it to him and he throws it away before returning to her side, grabbing the empty pot of coffee and dumping it out in the sink.

“I don’t know,” Emma admits as she scoops coffee grounds into the new filter, watching Killian fill up the carafe with water. She doesn’t even have to ask him anymore – he knows what she wants before she does, and maybe that’s a testimony to how in-synch they are.

“Take it from me, Swan – nature was not meant to be tamed, and whatever that Queen out there is doing…I don’t know if there’s much we can do to stop her.” Killian leans back against the sink, watching her as she turns the machine on, and she tries not to smile too much at his use of pronouns (she’s not sure when he started to think in terms of _we_ as opposed to _me_ but she’s glad he does).

“Maybe not, but you know we’ll try anyway,” she tells him, glancing over her shoulder. The others are locked in fierce debate, not even paying attention to them, so she reaches out to brush away the stray lock of hair that rests against his forehead that’s been bothering her all evening.

When her fingers move against his skin, his expression changes once again: his face relaxes more, his eyes follow her movements, his lips form a faint smile (not a smirk, not a grin, just a smile) as his head tilts to the side. His tone changes too, growing more affectionate as he reaches his hand out to take hers, fingers entwining with her own.

“You’re as stubborn as they come, lass,” he tells her before bringing her hand up to his lips and kissing her fingers lightly. “I’m sure you’ll defeat her.”

She smiles as his praise washes over her (she will never get over how much he believes in her) but there is the sound of a throat clearing and Regina is standing on the other side of the island, looking disgruntled.

“Do you two plan on making out or making coffee?” she asks, eyebrow arched as she observes them, but Emma does not pull away, merely glances over at the coffee maker, listening to the sound of it brewing. Regina doesn’t say anything but places her mug on the counter as she heads to the bathroom.

There is a moment after their confrontation where Emma can already feel that old familiar pull of guilt (even though Robin is here, he is seated far from Regina and even though he keeps looking at her, Regina, refuses to look back at him) and she –

“Stop.” Killian squeezes her hand, making her look back at him. “Don’t even think about it. They’ll figure something out.” He runs his thumb over the back of her hand and offers her a smile, and she sighs, nods.

“You’re right,” she tells him. They’ve discussed Regina and Robin and Robin’s wife before, discussed the role they played, and she knows she can’t beat herself up for it. It was a mistake, Regina knows it was a mistake, mistakes happen.   “It’ll be okay.”

“That’s the spirit.” His smile grows, and she can’t help smiling too. He’s the only one he makes her admit who can pull her back when she retreats within herself (not even her parents or Henry can makes her open the door when she’s locked herself in) and she doesn’t know just when that happened, just that she’s glad that it did. Whoever or whatever Killian is these days – reformed pirate captain, novice hero, boy friend/boyfriend – she’s glad that he’s by her side through it all.

The coffee pot stops with a click, and she turns and grabs the carafe. “Back to work?” she asks him as she grabs Regina’s mug, refilling it before heading back to the table. Killian sighs and pushes off the counter, and she can see the tension back in his shoulders as he resumes his post.  

As she refills their cups and heads back into the kitchen for more cream and sugar, their eyes meet once more, softening slightly, and Emma ducks her head. As much as she wonders if he will change completely, and when, she also wants to keep this other side of Killian all to herself, hide it away so that she doesn’t have to share it with anyone (he may be a lot of things, but above all else, he’s hers).


End file.
